


Wolf Hunt

by narath



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And really good at hide and seek, F/M, Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Solas is an Egg, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 07:49:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11308950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narath/pseuds/narath
Summary: Set post trespasser.Galain Lavellan wants to find Solas and talk some damn sense into him, and Divine Leliana knows exactly who can help now that she can't travel.There will be sass, there will be laughter. There will be flirting and there will be mud.Maybe some angst, definetly blood. Some magic, some daggers and elvhen glory.And Zevran! A whole lot of Zevran.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation in trespasser but the start of our journey. Buckle up buckaroo!

“Solas…”

She stepped around the petrified Viddasala, coming close enough to him to feel the scent of his pelt, rain and fur. Not a word had to be spoken; two set of eyes roving over facial features, drinking the moment in. For a second, there was nothing but just them.  
The tremor in her knees eventually subsided and she raised her arm to touch her lips as if his old kisses still lingered, immortal as they seemed.  
It brought on this myriad of feelings, humming like magic around them, yet the one feeling she felt strongest now was the anger, sinking and seeping like rainwater through her armor. She allowed herself to step away from him, scared that the two years of grieving would come back to the surface, ready to ruin her like it had night after night when she begged for mercy from the unbearable longing, asking in desperation for just a memory of his voice.  
He stared at her, a gentle loving smile splayed on his lips, fueling her fury.

“I suspect you have questions?”

“Questions, Solas? You ask me if I have _questions_?” She narrowed her eyes and huffed in frustration.  
“You’ve been gone for years, first of all leaving without a word, and now you ask me if I have _QUESTIONS_?!”  
The last word in her sentence broke into a scream, Galain now clutching her abdomen and laughing hysterically,

“I do think it is a serious matter.”  
Solas sighed and clasped his hands tightly behind his back, completely disarmed by her reaction. In another life, her laugh was the sweetest song. Now it felt like arrows, piercing his heart.

  
“A serious matter, Solas? Or should I call you Fen'harel now?”

“I see you figured it out.”

“Oh, please.”

 

The silence solidified between them and all that could be heard was the crunch of the gravel under Galains feet as she started to pace nervously.  
Two steps forward, a sharp turn, a sigh. Repeat.  
When she finally formed the words she had twirling on her tounge, she placed them in  neat order and let indifference wash over her expression, if only for a second.

“You are the Dread Wolf. You seek to restore the world of the elves, the one you destroyed by erecting the veil?”

“Correct.”

“And you take me for a stupid dalish girl, who couldn’t handle your truth when she trusted you enough to change her?! I could have helped you! But you are stubborn, and an ass, even with that pretty face of yours.”  
  
She crossed her arms and harrassed him with her malevolent glare.

“I see you got some new armor as well. Or did you borrow it from Abelas?”

“I have my reasons for being here, vhenan.”

“Vhenan,” She hissed the word. “Don’t call me that.”

“Ir abelas.”

“Tel abelas! If you love me, don’t give me grief over this.. This _stupid_ mission of yours! Have you not learned from your mistakes? You cannot restore anything without destroying what has now been built!”

The look of sorrow on his face threatened to have her legs give out, and she stumbled to sit down on a rock, dragging her hands across her face.  
The anchor flared up and she fell to her knees screaming, before Solas walked over and kneeled next to her, soothing the burn of the anchor and willing it gone.

“I am not Corypheus. I take no joy in this, but I will restore the world that once was even if it means the destruction of yours.”

“You will murder countless people? Women, children, sons and daughters! Solas, please, see your fault in this!”

“I cannot give you the answers you seek, Galain.”

He rose and walked over to the eluvian, making it hum and buzz from being activated. He looked at her over his shoulder, his calm expression set in stone and marble.

“I walk the dinan'shiral. There is only death on this journey.”

“You already said that you will destroy this world and everyone in it. That means I’ll die with it! Solas, _please_. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I would not have you die fighting my fight. You deserve to live your final years in peace.”

"Stop being such a martyr, Solas! How can I live in peace knowing what you are setting out to do?" She stomped her feet like an obstinate child, walking over to him and grabbing the straps of his armor, fighting not to shake him with the strength of her desperation.

"Just take me with you!"

"You know I can't, Galain. I will not have you see what I have become."

"Stop it, Solas. Just stop! **Stop**!"

She finally gave up and ran her hand through her hair in frustration. Talking in circles with Solas was something she learned about in Haven and there was nothing she could say to change his mind.  
Her shoulder slumped and tears started flowing, unstoppable, crashing into the soil where she now knelt.  
She wanted to scream, to punch, to rip someone in half.  
Instead she stared at the eluvian as it slammed shut, leaving her in the deafening silence, alone, once again.   
It must have been hours, days or even years before she rose, wiping tears that had dried on her cheeks. She cast a last look on the massive eluvian, betrayal and seething hatred contorting her face as she fought the impulse to feel empathy for the man she once loved. Still loves.   
A shriek of agony erupted from her mouth but she wasn't even sure if the arm felt worse or if determination was what would consume her. A thousand different paths merged in her head, solution after solution breeding nothing but more questions.   
She left the crossroads consumed with her confusion, leaving the only thing she was certain of; a whisper of her solemn promise to him.

_"I will find you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave feedback as it is my sole nutricion <3


	2. A letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im still trying to figure this whole writing thing out so... Have patience with me :')  
> But here it is, chapter one!
> 
> MASSIVE THANKS to Zanidragon who helps me edit and gives great suggestions <3

 

It was silent that night, apart from the ever growing clanking of tankards from the tavern.  
Galain was starting to get frustrated with just about everything; the shrill of the bard's voice grating like nails on a blackboard and the dinner she hadn't touched was still stinking up the room as if someone had taken their socks off and served them on a plate.  
She sat hunched over her desk going through the clues and the sightings of the supposed elvhen rebellion and their leader, Fen'harel.  
The dread wolf, she scoffed, with the grand master plan to fix the world the same way he had destroyed it in the first place.  
  
There was the clear evidence, easy to spot even for someone as daft as a donkey, that elves were disappearing from all over Thedas. And then there was the unyielding flow of questions that came with every new piece of information. Every day there was a raven or two from scout Harding, telling her that all signs pointed to Tevinter; something she already understood after countless of conversations with Solas about slaves and slavemasters, and more recently her heated debates with Dorian about the evils of slavery.  
It wouldn't stop her from thinking,however, about why Solas sought out Tevinter as he had made very clear that his main goal was to tear down the veil.  
The word why as well as how were the primary source of her sleepless nights, trying to figure out a way to infiltrate his ranks as he had done with hers, if she could only _find_ a rank to infiltrate.  
She grunted and lit a new candle, tugging on her braids as she leaned back to force a solution out of thin air, much like Dorian had taught her to do with her dead and gone limb, creating a new one glowing green of the fade.  
_'Just like that?'_ she had asked and swatted him on the thigh with her brand new necromanced arm.  
There was no ‘just like that’ to come save her now and she groaned when the tavern erupted with singing, tell-tale sound of boots thumping on a table.  
She growled and threw her whole collection of little candle stubs of straight out the window with an added  
"I can't hear myself think!" as they rained down upon some poor drunken bastards yelping in suprise of the assault by dead candlesticks.  
A roar from the patrons was the initial response, followed by laughter and then Iron Bulls booming voice.  
  
"Get your ass down here, Grumpy!"  
  
Grumpy, the name Varric had given her, warning everyone that used it not to say it to her face lest he would have to change it to 'Stabby'.  
Iron Bull was her exception, only because he could take a beating and actually enjoy it, something that frustrated her to the point of giving up and in turn calling him 'Whiny', for that one time in the Fallow Mire when she had forced him to carry her because she had shiny new boots.   
He wouldn't shut up about having to fight the undead with her perched on his shoulders, even if she called them the tower of doom and laughed like a villain as she loosened arrow after arrow into the horde of walking dead.  
Apparently she'd slowed his swing enough to grant his sullen mood.  
She chuckled at the memory and took her feet off the table, grabbed her favorite sweater and slammed the door shut behind her, just to spite the people who could actually get some sleep.

Anger was not a friend of hers.  
  
  
"Any news?" Iron Bull was smiling as he spoke to her, dunking a tankard of a dark and musty ale on the bar he was sitting behind. She frowned and drank half in one go.  
  
"No, and I'm not sure of how much more I actually need" she said, shrugging her shoulders and wiping the foam from her upper lip.  
  
"So, what's the wait?"  
  
"You tell me. This exalted council is excrutiating. I need someone like Leliana with me, but she can't go. I'd take you, but you can't go.” She frowned.  “Tell me why again?"  
  
"I need to see what is going on in Seheron, by your orders, if I'm not wrong?"  
  
"When did I tell you that?"  
  
"Yesterday."  
  
"Bullshit!"  
  
She wafted her tankard in front of his face and then sank her head down to rest on the surface of the bar. Iron Bull laughed, a deep rumble she felt through the grains of the wood.   
  
"Oh, the good ole days when the breach was still around and we could hack and slash ourselves through any mess. I think I'd prefer demons to Tevinter magisters. Wouldn't you? She raised a brow at him.  
  
"Not so sure about that, Grumpy," he chuckled. "Their magic is creepy, but I'd rather face a bloodmage than a creature of the fade. That is just some weird shit, the whole fade thing. No rules, no limits. Weird shit." he said, pointing to her arm as it flickered green.  
  
"So..." she hesitated, batting her eyelashes at Bull like an evil temptress, "You are going to Tevinter then? Any particular reason for that huh, or are you just gonna do me a favor?"  
  
He grinned at her and drank from his own tankard, granting Galain an opportunity to roll her eyes at the big brute who had become her closest friend through the events of the past years. She always thought, if the situation was different and the damn world wouldn't be in danger once again, she would join the chargers and just live a quiet and serene mercenary life. Well, her vision of quiet and serene.  
  
"You know I'd never seriously ask you to go back to Seheron, right?"  
  
"I know, Boss."  
  
She rolled her eyes again, groaning, "Don't call me that, Bull. Or I'll have to duel you, and we both know how that ends."  
  
"Wot, like that time you kicked his legs out and he ate mud?" Sera laughed as she walked over, plopping herself onto the bar. "Or the time you climbed him like a tree and sat between his horns? I love that one, don't you, Bull!"  
  
Both she and Galain were shaking in silent laughter to Iron Bulls dismay. He grunted and they broke into howling laughter, Sera standing up on the bar with her arms flailing trying to reenact how Bull was unable to reach Galain during that sparring session long ago.  
  
"Get down from there you squirr-" Sera tried to finish the sentence in a mocking, deep voice but folded in on herself from the laughter, sucking in wheezing breaths.  
He took a big gulp from his tankard, hiding his amusement.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. She wins because I let her win. It's what friends do for eachother."  
  
"Whatever you say, Whiny!" Galain wiped her tears and continued giggling, then handed Sera her refilled tankard.  
"Finish this for me, will you? I want to go see Nugget."  
  
"Her Holyface, riiight. Come back to us after!"  
  
"Sera, Bull," she nodded to them both and slapped Bull on the shoulder in a loving gesture.  
  
"Grumpy, squirrel, Boss" Bull sent her a mischevious smirk, laughter rumbling in his throat.  
  
"Oh, for-," She grabbed her sweater and stuck her tounge out at him. "Just you wait, you little shit."  
  
"Little?!" Bull put a hand to his mouth like a shocked noble, gasping in mock horror.  
  
Galain sauntered out of the tavern, happy for the friends she still had. She pulled on her sweater, Solas's old sweater, an old and raggedy knitted pullover, smelling of wool and still a little bit like him.  
There was a pang in her chest that came back with every heartbeat, but the cooling night air kept her focused as she walked towards the outer balconies where she had been asked to meet Leliana.  
Galain arrived before her and she leaned against the marble railing, the pang in her chest unwilling to go away, forcing her to swallow to push the pain away.   
It was moments like these she felt were the hardest, a grinding of stone on stone as her emotions collided.  
She missed him enough to forego the anger, and no laughter in the world could save her from the sting in her eyes when she thought about what he was doing at this very moment.  
Did he think of her as she thought of him?  
Or had he followed his own advice and steeled his heart to a cutting edge?  
She drew in a shaky breath and whispered a prayer to the wind, allowing herself to get lost in pleasant memories from a time that now felt surreal.  
She heard familiar steps behind her, her senses picking up even the faintest tapping of leather shoes.  
  
"Her perfection." she said smiling, without even turning around to face her.  
  
"Let me be Leliana for tonight"  
  
Leliana stepped up to Galains side and gazed over the mountains with her. Galain turned her head slightly and discovered Leliana in her normal outfit; lilac hood looking so familiar over her straw colored hair.  
  
"No partyhat, I see?" She chuckled, turning to rest her back on the railing.  
  
"It itches, believe it or not. And I grow tired of the confines of the dress, too."  
  
"It's good to see you, Nugget"  
  
"Likewise," she smiled.  "Would you walk with me?" Leliana took a step back, holding her arm out for Galain to hook into.  
  
It felt like they were back in Skyhold just then, the many nights they had wandered the battlements talking about every topic between heaven and earth.  
For as much as Bull was her best friend, Leliana was the sister she always wanted although their bond went further than any blood could ever go.  
If she would trust anything to anyone-which she rarely would in the first place- it would be to Leliana, or Nugget, as she called her.  
They walked leisurely in silence until they reached the fountain where they stopped and sat down on the edge of the confined water.  
The fountains drizzle was a perfect muffle for their voices, allowing them to speak freely.  
  
"How is.. Jaal, was it?" Leliana dipped a finger in the water, drawing shapes with the ripples. "Strange name for a nug, don't you think?"  
  
Galain snorted. "I guess so. It felt alien. And nugs don't look like they come from here."  
  
"I suppose you are right." Leliana laughed.  
  
"But they are cute."  
  
"That they are. I have a new litter coming in a month or so, I will write you all about them!"  
  
"Write me?"  
  
Leliana turned serious, but still had a beaming smile on her lips as she picked up a letter from her pocket.  
  
"This is what I wanted to talk to you about. You know I can't travel with you once we draw up a plan, but I still have my ways and I have asked for a favor from a very close friend."  
She smirked and stretched the parchment out to Galain, snatching it back when she reached for it.  
  
"What! Don't keep me waiting, let me have it!"  
  
"I just want to savor the moment," she giggled. "You're gonna love this."  
  
Galain conjured her fadearm to hold the letter steady in the unpredictable wind, and read as fast as her eyes let her, eager to see what Leliana had managed this time.  
  
_Greetings from Antiva!_ _  
__  
__Or rather, on the road from Antiva._ _  
__My sweet bird, I am flattered that you thought of me when such a problem needs solving. And who is better at solving your problems than me, wouldn't you say?_ _  
__I am leaving the blooming flowers of Antiva as we speak and I am eager to meet this Inquisitor of yours._ _  
__She is beautiful, no? I have heard tales of her grace in the battlefield._ _  
__  
__Be sure to have some antivan brandy ready when I arrive for I fear I will finish all of mine._ _  
__Travelling is awfully boring when you don't have beautiful company._ _  
__Or company that tells me that I am beautiful._ _  
__  
__See you soon._ _  
__Z._  
  
  
  
Galain squealed and crumpled the paper from excitement. "No!" She placed her hands on Lelianas shoulders and gasped. "Z, as in Zevran?"  
She put a hand on her mouth to try and stop the torrent of giggles, failing miserably,  
"The mysterious assassin from your tales of the warden? The one who escaped the Crows? Ooo, and the daggers! You cannot be serious!"  
  
Leliana couldn't help herself and broke into a warm laughter as Galain babbled on, shaking her head at the disbelief in her friend.  
  
"The one and only. Scouts reported he's half a days ride away so you will meet him in the morning"  
  
"Zevran?"  
  
"Zevran."  
  
Galain squealed again and hugged Leliana with all her might, excitement bubbling in her like a childlike delight.  
They sat there for hours, Galain prompting stories from Lelianas memory. As soon as she finished one she started another, engaging Galain with bits of gossip and secrets all which she enjoyed telling as much as Galain loved hearing, blue-eyed and eager.  
Soft murmurs and occasional giggles drifted with the wind, two dear friends finding comfort and a blissful moment of peace.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not letting you meet Zevran yet, but I wanted to write about Galains relationships with Leliana and Bull.  
> Also, sneaky mass effect reference. I love Jaal.  
> Next chapter will include my antivan loverboy, the assassin of my heart, the golden boy. The very best boy. Zevran.
> 
> Comments and kudos are THIS [stretches out arms as far as they go] appreciated!!!!!!!!


	3. zzzZZZzzz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are ya READY kiDs?!?!?!
> 
> And,  
> I KNOW about my incompetent use of english, but I am working on it and this is part of my practice. Please don't be mean,instead try to be understanding. I have gotten some messages about repeating myself, but what can I say? Some words, even sentences, sometimes stick with me. And I love them. They inspire me.  
> So if you read this, please remember, I write this as much for you as for my own pleasure. I am not here to please your every whim: i am writing this to develop as a writer but ALSO to use this as a get-away, a sway of things I know to let me huddle up in comfort. If you don't like it, please just leave and don't send me messages about my not-enough.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh well! I hope you enjoy!

She woke up at bit dazzled, the clinking of glasses a bit harsh for her ears to hear.  
She groaned a bit and grumbled, planting her face on the now cool side of the pillow as she turned it.

“Galain.”

“No.”

“Is it not your name?”

“Not before ten o'clock”

“How do you know the time?”

“What?” She got frustrated. With a low, menacing growl, she threw her beloved pillow on the servant that dared wake her as she finally got to sleep after the hours of sitting on cold stone, speaking to Leliana.  
She was met with a chuckle, a hoarse and muffled rumble, so she opened her eyes only to realize that dawn had barely passed, shadows still lingering tall and wide from the low sun.

“What?” She asked again, uncertain of how to react. There was a little fizzle as she tried to reason with the chaos in her head; confused but ready to strike as the attempts on her life had gotten more creative: from the goats attacking skyhold, to more recently, a merchant in Orlais who had asked her for an honest opinion on the feel of their curtains only to have them protruding with pricking needles, laced with a poison never researched and only named “death”.  
She still had two daggers strapped to her thigh, her fingers grazing the top of one handle under the cover of her duvet, calculating the movement to strike with the least resistance.  
When she was met with further silence, she lifted her head from the comfort of the bed.  
Her hair was frazzled, a little patch of drool dried on the corner of her mouth.

“If you are here to kill me,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes as if it would give her the gift of sight, cursing the sticky glue that gathered every time she closed her eyes. “You would be the worst assassin I have ever heard of.”

“Ah, but you have heard of me, you see.”

It was as if she started simmering, little bubbles bursting and releasing, questions popping as they joined their proper answers; lines drawn in a frantic second, connecting dots of knowledge.  
She sat up straight as a rod and forgot about the blanket, her breast dropping and bouncing to the fast movement.

“YOU!” She proclaimed, certain of the presence in the room.

“I,” he said, covering his eyes with two fingers as his thumb rested at his temple, not even trying to hide the tug of his lips as he lingered in a shadow, “Enjoy the view, alas, I came not to only see it.”

She chuffed, covering herself with the bundle of her cover, blushing profusely and thanking the gods for it not being seen.  
After a while, she hummed, “I should have known about this. After all, you are Zevran, no?”

“Here I am,” he said, and she swore it was what a smirk sounded like.

“You decided to come to my room, at,” she opened her eyes fully, assessing the dance of light in the room, “not even the break of dawn?”

“I prefer things that are honest, and honesty falls from the bosom of the pure.”

“You’re an asshole then? Came here to see me naked? I half expected that.” She snapped, and saw after, how the mirth slipped off his face and left a hurt frown. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I’m the asshole. But I kind of blame you, because I’m not a morning person.”  
She considered his face and her words the same, offering a tug of her lips as she rearranged the blanket, resting it closer to her body.

“The morning would never claim a person, chiquita”

“But it always claims me,” she chuckled, rising from the bed with the pasty white sheet clamped under her arms, bundled on top of her chest and draping over the front of her body. As she stepped towards the divider by the wardrobe she let the daggers strapped to her thigh shimmer in the morning light. She turned quickly, instead presenting him with a view of her back and bottom, swaying her hips with her trademark confidence.  
When she reached the drawer, uncertain if he had watched her, she crumbled a little, a tensing of her muscles letting her know this was the first man she was alone and naked with since Solas.  
She tinkered with the loose and wobbly knob of her upper drawer, torn between moments and a little more than little unsatisfied with how she felt about it.

“Give me a moment,” she finally said, a bit too weak for her liking, letting go of the drawer as she finally pulled it open.  
He only hummed in answer, caught in a book she had left carelessly by the tea tray, a tome on un-even magic, and she peeked out from the divider seeing him completely occupied trying to align the three rays of sun peeking through the blinders, turning the book to see the last word of a sentence.  
She almost laughed at how his brows furrowed, completely aghast to the suns unwillingness to cooperate.  
When she finally stumbled into a pair of leg wraps, and a loose cotton tunic, she grabbed her comb and went to sit down in the chair next to Zevran.  
He had sat himself in her favorite chair but looked so comfortable with his legs flung over the armrest, heating his toes by the fireplace, she didn’t have the heart to tell him to bugger off.  
Instead she sighed as she started combing her unruly curls, thick and wild hair slowly parted and tamed into a braid.

“Bonita.” He said, a smile playing on his lips.

“What?”

He didn’t answer, instead took a sip of the tea he had poured for himself, studying her over the brim of his cup.  
He watched her brush her hair, snorting at the way she tugged at the curls, cursing under her breath.  
She noticed his eyes lingering over her chest, and she smiled inwardly knowing it looked enticing as she had not put on a breast band yet, puffing out her chest along with the defiant pattern of her thoughts. She knew she was tempting.  
When he moved on, he procured the most curious look, considering the moves of her flickering not-really-real arm.

“How does it work?” He asked, tilting his head in question.

“This?” She said, lifting the surreal limb in question to let him study it. Small tendrils of matter -pulled from the fade- were moving as if aware of the display for him, twisting into tips much like smoke, dancing along the outline of her arm where her flesh and muscle would be.  
In the center, confined by the border of the memory of her arm, there was a continuous moving of green and violet particles, like sand in an ever-turning hourglass.  
She watched Zevran as his brows furrowed, trying to figure out the spell behind this extravagant show of magic .  
After a while he sought her eyes, ready for her explanation. She winced, not really ready for it.

“I figured,” she started, a bit uncertain of how to continue. “Uhh..” she opened her mouth and closed it, nervously fingering her neatly finished braid.

  
“Leliana never mentioned that you are a mage?” Zevran spoke up, gentle expression on his face.

 

“I,” Galain got angry with herself, huffing in frustration, tongue still tied.  
She took a breath to collect herself, cursing the nervousness that always came when she spoke of her magical abilities.

“Ok. I figured as we were going to travel together, you might as well know. I am no mage, but I can use magical powers. The arm,” she said, waving the flickering hologram, “This arm, is only for comfort and practicality. Outside of this room, and only in Halamshiral, people think it is a spell cast on me, not by me.  
She took a shollow breath, picking at her shirt with a tired look, opting to stay quiet for a minute.

"I don’t use it often, and I don’t use it in battle. For that, I have a prosthetic. But the important part,” and she paused, whipping her head up to give Zevran a stern look, “is that you don’t speak of my magic. You have to know about it, because I will use it while we travel. But say anything to anyone else, and I’ll slit your throat.”

  
“Ah.”

  
“Do you have any other questions?” She snarled, unsure of why she was angry.  
Talking about her magic abilities always set her on edge, and she looked Zevran with a faint smirk, considering him lucky. The first time Solas questioned her about being a mage, she set his coattails on fire.

  
Zevran never got to ask any further questions, as someone knocked, lightly, on the door.  
They both stared at the door, then at each other.  
It knocked again.  
Galain let out a little laugh, curious as how they would explain Zevran’s appearance in her own quarters the very first night he arrived.  
She went to open the door and found Leliana behind it, now in her Divine clothes.  
Galain held her arm out, inviting her in. There was a story told between the looks the women shared, before Leliana stepped through and Galain closed the door with a silent click.

  
“Zevran,” Leliana mused, “I see your excitement never fades.”

  
“Ah well, my dear nightingale. How often do I get to meet the fabled Herald of Andraste?”

  
Galain snorted from where she stood, tinkering with her prosthetic arm.

“Leliana, would you help me for a second?”

Leliana stepped closer to the bureau where Galain stood, and helped her lift the fabric of her tunic to let her fasten the lyrium infused arm with a dagger acting as her hand.

  
“Perfect, as you are, Inquisitor.” Leliana let her hand linger on Galains shoulder, a loving glimmer in her eyes.

  
“Not for much longer,” Galain put her red formal coat on and fastened the buttons. “I assume you came because the gnarly old men of the court have started simmering? Creators, do they ever sleep?”

  
Leliana didn’t answer, only laughed as she sat down beside Zevran, crossing her legs.  
He had the most fun, watching Leliana interact with the complete stranger he was going to travel with; there was a tenderness between them, an understanding through silent communication.  
Zevran found himself having a dull ache in his chest, wishing for the same companionship.  
Shaking the discomfort from his mind, he was the first one to speak up; a bit nervous with the silence in the room.

  
“What now?” He said, a bit hoarse. He cleared his throat as Galain started to speak, wrapping a golden band of silk around her waist.

  
“Well, we are setting off to the hinterlands.” She left out the part about Iron Bull going to Tevinter, rapidly calculating what Zevran needed to know in her head.

“But first,” and she raised her fist to shake it dramatically, “I’m gonna show these motherfucking leaches what a dramatic entrance looks like.”

Leliana smirked as Zevran's face tamed an incredulous look, but they both rose as Galain stomped to the door, flinging it open with a bubbling laugh.

She and Leliana had this discussion months ago, when the exalted counsil had just started. The inquisition would disperse, and they would work undercover, without the responsibility of power as Leliana had put it.  
Galain strode with stiff and booming steps, hoping to wake the sleeping inhabitants of her hallway.

First door to open was Iron Bulls, his head peaking out with a grin from ear to ear.

“Now?” He asked, stepping in line with Leliana and Zevran, walking behind Galain while putting on his jacket.  
A rousing whoop was all he got from Galain, answering in kind with a rumbling chuckle.  
They walked in even steps, determined and amused, when Seras door open behind them; the small elf stumbling out and shouting after them.

“Wait!” Sera cried, hopping on one leg as she tried to get her boot on.

Galain slowed her stride, stifling giggles that pierced through her earlier immortal determination.

“Sera! You are messing with the floooow!” Galain groaned, “Don’t you want to sleep that hangover off?”

“I dun’ care,” Sera shrugged, fixing her formal wear with pats and tugs as if it was attacking her, “I’m not missing this, whatever y’say.”

Galain laughed, letting Sera fall in line with the rest of the crew. Iron Bull huffed as he was pushed closer to Zevran, both eyeing each other trying to figure out if they wanted to kill or make love to the other.  
When they turned from the hallway, still walking in silence to the beat of their footsteps, Varric with Cassandra -no one dared to say a word about them coming out from the same room- and Vivienne caught up to the large group that had formed.

Vivienne gasped when Cole materialized just as they stopped in front of the door to the room where the council was being held; there was a bit of grime and some leaves clinging off his clothes. Galain raised a brow at him as she put her hand on the door.

  
“There was… A bunny. Squirming, hurting. So many lives to hold in her space, but then I helped her!”

  
Galain hummed in response, heart aching for the compassion in the boy. She would miss him the most, she thought, but shook the thought quickly from her mind as she pushed the door open. No room for weakness, she told herself; smirking at the ease in which she found herself in.  
There was a swirl of dust as if the massive door had never been opened before, but she found it fitting as she stepped through, feeling bold and all new.  
The men of the court stiffened, previous discussion falling silent to accommodate Galains growling.

  
“You goat-fucking, blood sucking little _weasles_ ,” she snarled, collecting herself only when Cullen cleared his throat to remind her of the situation, she returned a look of hope and  a little pity, hoping he would find his place when she was gone before she snarled again. They never let him know. She lingered a little longer, hoping to convince him of her innocence; a look of pleading now weighing heavy on his shoulders before she snarled at the council again.

  
“You stand by as scaredy little _butt-fucked_ cats when the world is torn asunder, and, and," She threw her arms up in a wild pattern, pointing her prosthetic arm, embellished with a dagger at different men of the council as if counting them.  "And THEN, then when it’s all over you scramble to regain power.” She laughed. "I pity you!"

Galain let out a manical laugh as she stepped closer to the podium, wanting to shove a fist through each and every one of the gaping mouths of the horrified council.

  
“I have nothing more to say to you, you, you imbecils.”

  
She turned to Leliana, raising her arms in exasperation; letting her know she was leaving.  
Leliana scurried through a hidden doorway, a smirk firmly planted on her face for the brief secong Galain got to see it.  
The women had agreed for Galain to seem to be losing it, a final grasp for her newly won power.  
It would be easier for her to travel if rumor slowly spread, that the inquisitor had gone haywire; it would let her search ruins and investigate in peace, under the cover of manical illusions.

  
“This world will burn!” Galain shouted, tugging at the base of her hair for dramatical effect. “This world will burn and I will not save you!”

She slammed down the decree of the Inquisitions termination on their table, turning around in a frenzy to stride out of the massive hall, trying to hold her breath as she fought with a bubbling laughter.

  
When she reached the closed off space of her gardens, hidden behind looming walls of greenery, she found herself still accompanied by most of her companions, all silently moving to the laughter they wished to unleash.

  
“Well, that was..” Zevran started but never got to finish; Galain erupting in a loud and rumbling laughter, followed by Iron Bull bending over, wheezing and full of mirth.

“Goat fuckers!” Iron Bull clucked, slapping Galain on her shoulder. “I never thought you’d actually say it!”  
Galain giggled in kind, turning to Zevran to explain the situation, using a hushed and silent tone sometimes broken with laughter.

  
They all sat there for hours, a little family found in misery and battle; all huddling in the small space underneath her window passing anecdotes and getting to know Zevran, all excited to learn about his time with the warden and to tell her goodbye.  
When afternoon came around, most of them dispersed wishing Galain well for her future, leaving the original trio; Zevran, Galain and Leliana, sitting exasperated around the table.  
Leliana nibbled on some cheese as she turned to Galain, her head hanging low ready to rest from the tumultuous social interaction.

  
“Galain,” she giggled, tapping on her knee. “The transport is ready. You will have the caravan until you reach Redcliffe, yes?" Leliana paused, rousing Galain with a little shake.  "Breton is kept by master Dennett, they are both waiting for you."

  
“And for me, bonita?” Zevran turned his gaze upon Galain as she stood, brushing her leg to get rid of any crumbles. “What is my mode of transport?”

  
Galain snorted as she was roused into awareness, giving Zevran a raised brow for the nickname he gave to her.  “We’ll find out, won’t we!”

She slapped him on the knee before she pecked Leliana on the cheek and whispered something in her ear to make her blush, then climbed up to and through her window, ready to shed the horror of her formal wear, once and forever.  
When she was back into her comfortable tunic, prosthetic arm still in place, Zevran stepped through her door, ready to gather his backpack and his armor.  
They tinkered in silence, already at home with how they acted around each other. Galain threw a satchel at him and he caught it without looking.

  
“What is this?” He asked.

  
“For the road, and it is elfroot blossoms. Do you smoke?” Galain asked, smirking in his direction.

  
“Ah, you already know me, Galain. Yes I do.” Zevran answered, putting his nose to the satchel to take a deep sniff.

  
They gathered their things and walked out to the gates, Galain rolling a joint as she mumbled in a frenzy, strengthening the onlookers vision of her as sidestepping airhead.  
She liked playing out her inner fury with Orlesians, turning to snarl and spit at the nobles as they whispered insults under their breath.

Zevran was amused too, acting like her caretaker as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders before they climbed into the carriage.  
The driver set the horses off and they relaxed into their lounging, both lost in wandering thoughts, puffing on a shared pipe with their feet hanging off the back off the carriage.

  
“I am excited.” Zevran decided after a long while of silence, turning to hand the pipe to Galain only to find her sleeping.  
He chuckled and put a blanket over her legs before turning back to watching the horizon, where the view of the Winter Palace grew steadily smaller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> picture me, a hearteyed motherlover, tugging at your shirt and asking for love. Do you like it????   
> Are you as excited as I am??? Lemme know!!!
> 
> xoxo


	4. Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking so long. But - I have art to make up for it! I commissioned a piece from Merrily-doodles and I can't stop gushing over it. ITS SO GORGEOUSSSS.  
>  You can find it on my tumblr, because im not tech savvy and I don't have the slightest clue of how to insert said painting into here. Kek.
> 
> And a massive thanks to Zani-dragon/patheticnugbaby who helps me with my shitty english. An amazing writer you definetly should check out too!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!

"Andale, andale!" Zevran's yanked on Bretons reigns, sweat glistening on his forehead.   
Likely from frustration, more than exertion.    
He grunted and he huffed. A sharp exhale through his nose, a swift wipe of his brows. Neither Zevran nor Breton, the halla, would accept defeat.   
Breton had the upper hand, just in sheer size, and let out a sort of huff that bordered on a hiss, tired of the stand-off he had found himself in.    
It was all just miserable.   
Galain laughed, first after twenty minutes of rolling her eyes. It warmed him a little, spurred him to try one more time. He felt like wanting to prove something to her,  a prickling in his spine.   
On the way there she and Zevran had spoken about riding; she told him they would spend most of their excursion on horseback, and the other part on cold hard ground.

"No problem." He had said, taking a swig of water from a flask. "I am used to that sort of travelling, bonita. I can ride anything, even darkspawn." She giggled and nudged his shoulder, asking him to tell the story and then twenty more.   
But now they were here, and he had tried. She laughed and he tried again. The halla would not move, not even an inch.    
He shrugged and she smiled - she looked beautiful then, he decided, stray curls dancing in the wind, leaning on a fence. A sort of intimidating effortlessness.   
Galain closed her eyes, basking in the bright warmth that had found them. She took a deep breath of Redcliffs air, smelling entirely different now than two years ago - still of druffalo manure and stale, swampy water- but more like... Movement. Life.    
It was a good thing.   
  
It was a good thing, to feel ready; to join the bustling life around them. Up until now, there had been one too many cups of tea and too many proper words. Her mouth hurt. She was never one to wait; it had gotten to the point where she felt every feeling to pinpoint precision; anger, betrayal, seething thirst for revenge. For what, she didn't know.    
But she had been crossed one time too many in her life now. Solas was the last straw, he had to be stopped. She wondered if she still harbored love for him, or if it was nothing more than melancholy left.   
A lingering sensation of something, but something didn't feel like love, it felt like glass, shattering in the chambers of her heart.    
There was no comfort nor hope, just a repetition of his cold goodbye.    
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

  
  
  
Empty, wordless. The sky clouded.   
  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She was jarred out of her thoughts as Zevran huffed, again, unleashing a torrent of antivan sentences, probably cursing the stubborn mounts whole bloodline.   
_ Pe-n-de-j-o _ , she mouthed, tasting the word.    
He tried to rustle the huge halla into at least taking one step forward, he definitely counted it as a success as Breton rose on his hindlegs, trying to fling the persistent antivan off his back. His shirt flapped open at the top, revealing sweat-slickened golden skin. Galain stared, wide eyed.   
  
"Braska!"   
  
Breton sought Galains eyes and let out a deep huff, his ears flicking.    
  
"You know, Zev-" Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, still staring at Zevran's chest and far beyond, her eyes watering from the trance she put herself in.   
  
"Yes, yes. I know, I do. Fine."   
  
"Fine." She laughed, tugging on the grass that grew tall by the fence.  "You are- I mean, you know" she picked a straw and put it between her teeth, chewing the unfamiliar taste away. "Breton is Breton. Like none other. It took me nearly a year to have him trust me. If you're not comfortable with riding behind me, I'm sure Dennett has a horse he can spare for you."   
  
Zevran put two fingers to his temple and frowned towards Galain. "How do you ride him! He is enormous, he will not move!" He flung his leg over Bretons back, landing on the ground with a thud. "Bonita, he is useless!"   
She gasped, offended in all seriousness. Her nose crinkled.   
  
She approached Breton and with a gentle cooing she rested her forehead on his.   
Breton stomped, one leg at a time, restless from Zevran's attempt to woo him, nudging Galain in the side to guide her towards the saddle.   
  
"I know, I know." Galain fussed, unfastening the saddle that bit into his fur and swung up to sit on his bare back as soon as it hit the ground.   
She rested on Bretons neck as she turned to Zevran. She stayed silent, he tilted his head in question.    
Zevran stepped up to her side and laid a hand on her calf. She felt it all the way to the top of her head.   
  
"You will ride him, with me, and our equipment?"   
  
"Not a lot of equipment, and Breton is strong" She snorted. "Get up."   
  
"So you say." He struggled getting behind Galain before she drove her heels into Bretons mid - and took off.    
Zevran barely caught his breath before his hands clamped down on Galains hip, hard, like vices. He lost himself in the sensation of her soft flesh, the iridescent smell of her hair. Was it lavender? He took a deep breath, nearly inhaling some of her curls in the process. Only then did he realize how fast they were going, landscapes blurring as Breton evaded rocks and sticks on the ground, his galloping thrumming like thunder. Galain was glued to Bretons neck, Zevran was glued to Galain, his chest resting on her back. For a moment, he leaned back to welcome a rush of air between their bodies, only to end up trying to spit out the long locks of Galains hair that plastered on his skin and in his mouth. He caught one curl in his hand and revelled in the feel of it, frizzy and big. He put it to his nose and took a deep whiff. He couldn't figure out what it smelled like. Lavender, maybe.   
  
"Get down!" Galain shouted as they went into an area thick with trees. Zevran didn't have a second to react, snapping into reality just as a branch hit him square on his chest, having him land on the forest floor with a pained oof. Galain stopped Breton with a loud yell, a shrill that weaved through the forest. She turned Breton on his heel, rushing back to where Zevran lay on the ground, groaning.   
  
"Oh, shit! Are you ok?" She kneeled beside him, prodding his midsection with gentle fingers.   
  
"I am."    
  
"So you say," she mocked, "Stand up." She offered her hand, which Zevran denied, rolling onto his stomach to rise on his knees. He let out a silent whimper as he stood, but now he did stand, a bit wonky. He smiled.   
  
"He hates me, no?" He said.   
  
"No, where did you get that from!" Galain laughed, offering Zevran a flask of elfroot she had strapped to her belt. He drank the whole thing, three gulps, and grimaced after.   
  
"Hideous."   
  
"Yes."   
  
They started walking back together, Breton in a proud trot ahead of them. Zevran grumped a couple times whenever the halla circled them, lowering his horns in glee. Only once did Zevran get to laugh, just as they arrived back at the farm, when Breton missed the entrance of the barn and walked straight into the wall beside it. Zevran wheezed and called him  _ estupido _ , only to have a mouthful of sand kicked into his face. Then it was Galains turn to laugh.

  
Once Breton had gotten his feed and Galain safely healed Zevran's bruises in a closed room, she asked him to go get a bottle of something, anything, that contained alcohol. Something strong, she told him.   
The whole way back to the village, maybe a fifteen minute walk, he basked in the golden light of an almost setting sun and his drifting thoughts about Galain, the wondrous woman whom he had grown to respect in such a short time; her reputation and Lelianas stories helping him along the way. He trusted Leli, and he felt that he could grow to trust Galain.    
She is beautiful, he nearly said out loud, dribbling a small rock between his feet as he walked.   
He stopped in his tracks then, catching his breath. It was enough that he had a life to live after Rinna, and he was still sore after Mahariels retreat. 

He had chosen someone else, and Zevran understood; someone like him, bred to kill, was not anyone to hold, to keep. He was Zevran, an assassin, formerly of the Crows. Not even Arainai; the name didn't apply anymore. Just Zevran.   
Love was not for him, he thought. Pleasure was, but it was harder and harder to find.   
He could not give one and forego the the other, not anymore. He had all these feelings, feelings he denied himself up until now. It stung a little, knowing that.   
Galain had to be kept at an arm's length, he decided too, determined as he reached the first merchants.    
  
"Have you heard," they whispered, tissling and tassling behind the tarp of  the merchant's wagon. "The inquisitor lost her marbles! She cut the head off the Divine!"    
Zevran could feel a heat begin to rumble, deep in the nape of his neck; at the same time it was the shine of his daggers that came to mind. A clean cut, messy aftermath. He had to keep his cool, taking a deep breath to calm his senses, feeling the dirth of the earth under his feet.   
He knew what he had signed up for but still, even though, he was agitated with the small minds outside of the circle he had just joined. How dare they, he thought, slowly reaching his boiling point. How dare they assume, when she had saved the world twice, for them, and is attempting to save it again.   
  
"Cut the head off the Divine, eh?" He emerged, rounded the corner of the wagon. The lady behind squealed in fright, jumping nearly a foot up in the air.    
  
"Y-yes! Have you heard it too?"    
  
He scoffed, dragging his hidden dagger out of its sheath, a silent threat.   
"And where have you heard of this, you say, _hmm?_ He nearly purred his answer, flashing the fire in his eyes, a mad look. The ladies shuddered.   
  
"It is the word, ser. Just the word!"   
  
Zevran stabbed an apple lying in the corner of a pile, bringing it to his face to take a bite.   
  
"I would be careful with the words you fling around so carelessly," he whispered, so close to the one lady, she could feel his hot breath on her ear; smelling like crisp, green apple. "I've heard she can take the forms of other beings, slicing the throats of those not in her favor, hiding in plain sight"    
The merchant dropped the sack of grains she held, staring wide eyed at Zevran as he grabbed two bottles of brandy and flinged a silver coin at her, forcefully, before turning on his heel to walk back to the farm.

The sun had barely set as he stepped up the path to the house, druffalo’s grunting at his arrival. The whole area basked in a peachy light and he stopped a second, holding the door ajar as he took in the sight of fireflies emerging to dance on the fields Dennett's wife kept impeccable.    
  
"Zevran?" Galain called from somewhere in the house.    
  
"No rush, bonita," He called as he took the stairs in two, grabbing two glasses from a shelf he passed. He was excited to learn about the ruins they were to visit tomorrow, an ancient artifact she had told him was crucial to the plan; for Solas to bring down the veil in one piece, it needed to be a strong whole to avoid tearing and, something. He still didn't understand the whole of it; trusting that Galain knew the practical details, leaving the sneaking and spying to him. It was a sweet deal. 

  
"I am here" He breathed, swinging the door open only to find Galain with her back turned to him, only showing the locks of her hair as she was submerged in a steamy bath. Naked, he realized.   
  
"Joining me, are you?" Galain didn't turn to ask him the question, but broke the surface of the water with a loud splash as she rose to stand in the tub. "Or did you bring drinks, at last?"   
  
Zevran was a bit stunned, he confessed to himself. His eyes roved over Galains body, drinking in the many features that made her, her. She had told him stories about her time in Tevinter; evasive, but still revealing a lot with the few words she had told him. His eyes caught first on the golden snake that circled her ear, as always, he thought it was a beautiful piece of jewelry. When he drew his next breath, his eyes caught on the golden studs that pierced her nipples. He gulped, swallowing hard, with a purpose.   
His breeches tightening slightly as he lingered. Her breast were full, and round, a thankful handful - or mouthful - and he shivered at the thought of having her nipples caught in his teeth. His head swam a little, and he found himself blushing as he staggered to sit down on a stool, leaving the drinks behind on a desk too far to reach.    
  
At that moment, bursting through the door as if the barn was on fire, came Dennett.    
"Inquisition!"   
  
"Galain, please," she corrected him. The man had stopped in his tracks halfway through the door, catching Galain in all of her naked glory, his mouth slacking open in a soft  _ O _ .    
  
"Inq- Galain," He started again, after a while of stunned silence. Zevran stared at him with an unamused look, grabbing a towel for Galain. "I just had a villager tell me they saw a group of elves, southwest from here. Thought it would be important."   
  
"Who told you this?" She stepped out of the tub, grabbing the - absolutely tiny - towel from Zevran's hands, covering her intimate parts while Zevran stood up beside and a little in front of her, giving her another sense of comfort.   
  
"Someone I trust," Dennett spoke, "From a farm closer to where your camp used to be."   
  
"There is an artifact there, but we were not seeing it until the morning. I don't know-" Galain turned to Zevran, the question lingering in her eyes.   
  
"No rest for the wicked, no?" He offered her a smile as he handed her her garter, daggers clinking. He allowed himself a last lingering look at her breast as she put the garter on, the gentle bob of her flesh as she bent over to ready herself was the kind of beauty he had only seen once, or twice, now. He nearly felt ashamed for feeling so much, wanting to tell Galain that her skin looked like poetry, the jagged edges of her scars a list of her strengths.   
Instead, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes down, lacing his boots with a military mind. He strapped his daggers to his back and turned to her as he heard the clasp of her armor fasten. It was safe.   
When she was finished with fastening her prosthetic, gathering her hair to have him help her, he took a deep breath and offered her a smile.   
  
"We have to ride Breton, don't we?"   
  
Galain only laughed as he fastened the upper strap of her arm, winking at Zevran as he rolled his eyes.    
He was tall and strong, she thought. Tall and strong, and handsome. It was time to see how he fared in a battle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /hides in a corner and cries/ hope it was ok guys. more coming soon!


End file.
